Walking Dead 1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story started out as a Headcanon challenge for a FB group called Carolution. It was meant to be a oneshot but got to be 23 pages before I started to flounder and realised I needed to cut it into chapters if I had any chance at all of finishing it. The headcanon was from Upsgirl88 and I am looking for the full quote and will add it here when I find it. Meanwhile, the main idea is in the Summary.

Blown Chances and Old Regrets

"Can I ask you something?"

Carol huffed out a laugh. She was thoroughly amused that Carl, after throwing all manner of questions at her all afternoon and leaving her mentally ragged, now chose to ask if he could pitch at her another. They were out melting under the afternoon sun, seeing if they could hold out for when it finally began to dim and allow a coolness to kiss their skin. Carl had led her slowly around the garden for the past few hours, telling her a few stories about his farming experiences to date with his father interspersed with the happy, enthused stories that proved how valuable it was for Carl to have the opportunity to make friends again. Truth was, Carol was grateful for him and his motor mouth, keeping her distracted…keeping her interested in life at the prison.

"Of course you can," she conceded with a quirk of her lips and a squint of her eyes as she looked up at him, a fine figure of a teenage boy holding a basket of paraphernalia needed to tie up tomato plants so they didn't keel so far over with their heavy bounty that they snapped. "Though if you're planning on asking me where Patrick hid his cherished Hershey bar that he won from you last week, you're out of luck."

Carl ducked his head, sheepish at being reminded of his previous attempts to be stealthy. She was momentarily fooled, but then his expression turned serious and a sense of warning made her gut clench. Her hands stalled around a plant, an uncomfortable stillness springing up between them.

Carl took a deep breath and looked her right in the eyes. "Are you avoiding Daryl?"

She shouldn't have been surprised, and yet she still managed to be. Carol watched intently the fragile stems in her hands and carefully let them slip through her fingers, straightening up so that she was almost eye-to-eye with her young friend.

"Why would you think that?" The attempt to bypass an actual answer wasn't missed by Carl and he responded with a sudden awkwardness that made Carol wince. Along the road leading down to the prison, the rough roar of Daryl's bike could be heard, indicating that he and Michonne were finally home after another of their lengthy trips trying to hunt down the Governor. Carol smiled, though she didn't look toward the gates. Not once did her gaze waver from Carl.

"Well for one, you never greet him at the gate anymore," Carl boldly stated and Carol responded with a wary frown.

"He doesn't need me to do that, Carl. Besides, things don't grind to a halt just because someone has made it home. We have a job to do here, don't we?" she reminded him firmly, her words serving as both a gentle nudge to continue on as well as a warning that she wasn't going to discuss Daryl any further.

"You're right." He nodded definitively, as if her wisdom had actually been in question and Carol peered up at him through the sweat that beaded on her forehead and made her eyes sting when she was too distracted to swipe it off her hairline and it dribbled down into her sight. Carol snapped the last tie around the tomato plant she'd been gently nursing and then Carl was grinning, flinging the basket at her feet before racing across the yard to greet the returned group members, making sure that at least Michonne knew he was eager to see her—and not only for the haul of comics he was always praying for her to bring him. Carol glanced their way, relieved to see them both moving freely without any apparent wounds, and then she snatched up the basket and headed inside the prison, ready to immerse herself in the next job that needed doing.

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"You ain't doin' that right."

Daryl clucked his tongue at Michonne, watching the way she was attempting to skin the three rabbits he'd found in one of Rick's traps outside the prison before they'd pulled in, chuckling at the sorry state of fluff and blood that she was turning their dinner into.

"Well sor-ry, Mr. Skinner. I've never had to bother before. Carol's always been here to take over." Dark eyes clashed with wary blue and a shudder tripped through him. He knew what she was asking and he had no answer. He'd been back for hours now and hadn't laid eyes on Carol, and it wasn't from lack of trying. Usually he or Carol would skin the animals that came in for dinner, but not only had the woman made herself scarce, but so had Daryl in his search for her all over the prison. And Rick didn't seem too keen to step up and take over anything, either. Whole place felt weird…foreign, like it wasn't even home anymore. He'd been gone so long and so often that he felt like he was becoming a stranger amongst the people that he loved. He shrugged noncommittally at Michonne and took over, taking the knife and poor abused critter out of her hands and deftly made the proper cuts that would relieve the meat of its furry covering.

"Have you two had a fight or something?" Michonne stood watching him, pretending she was watching his skinning process when she was obviously not paying the slightest bit of attention except to his frown of confusion.

"Nah. Barely talk enough lately to even get enough words in to have a fight. I don't know what's up. Maybe it's nothin'." Yeah, he didn't believe that either, but whatever it was, he didn't have the skills to interpret it.

"Maybe…" Michonne cleared her throat, stared at the ground for a minute then slammed him with that intense thing she did that made his blood freeze in his veins because he knew she was going to throw some of that profound shit at him and he'd have no defence against it. "Maybe you've been gone too long, Daryl."

The second she said it the words resounded inside him deeply. He knew it was true, and not just because he felt like a stranger. He was lost out there, wandering the earth for a ghost that was likely as good as dead, though maybe only a little more than the rest of them. Man had damn near killed everyone he knew and Daryl understood that he was at least a little unhinged to do a thing like that, that the Governor was likely barely clinging to sanity as he navigated his way through walkers and the human perils out there. The passionate rage to avenge Merle had slowly slid out of his grasp until he realised that killing the man responsible for taking the life of his brother meant nothing if he had no life himself to return to. The desire to see Carol's face and get lost in her soft eyes became acute. Yeah, he'd definitely been gone too long.

He passed the knife back to Michonne, knowing there were still two furry bodies yet to strip. Michonne curled her lip in distaste and Daryl smirked as he turned his back and went for another search of the prison. They both knew he wasn't going out again, and maybe the change would keep Michonne inside the gates a little longer as well.

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It wasn't any grand, startling moment that had given her clarity, more an accumulation of events that added up to something so natural that she was miffed at herself for never suspecting it might happen in the first place. The first time she'd noticed their growing closeness was the day they brought Andrea home. Her frail, destroyed body had been a bonding experience between the two, an outlet for Daryl to do something for the woman he felt like he'd failed while he grieved for the brother he'd lost by the same hand. They were united in grief and anger, fobbing off Carol's offers to help with digging the grave or preparing Andrea for eternal rest. They shared that burden while Carol watched on concerned, sad for them both and feeling her own deep sorrow at losing her brave friend when she'd just started to hope there could be a chance Andrea would return to them and live her life out beside them at the prison.

Once her body was safely in the ground, the plotting began, and Carol and Rick both watched in alarm as the woman resolved to hunt the murdering Governor down, needing to take his life to help her deal with the pain of losing Andrea and the guilt for leaving her behind. She was new to them, so while they understood the ferocity of her need for revenge, and were frightened for her because of it, they didn't know her well enough nor had invested enough of their own caring into her to fight her plan very hard. Not until Daryl decided she wasn't leaving without him.

Carol had been on the fence with Rick some weeks after, clearing as usual when Daryl and Michonne made their way toward his bike, the strong warriors appearing for all the world to be filled with euphoria at heading out together. Daryl had a smile on his face a mile wide—one that was so rare that it actually made Carol gasp. She'd turned back to killing walkers under Rick's concerned gaze, her hands shaking as she tried to ignore Michonne's uncharacteristic, rich laughter that cracked across the yard, and though she felt hurt so visceral she wondered for a moment if she was going to be struck down, she breathed in the fetid filth at the fence and it staved away her tears. At least for that moment. She'd just managed to control it when the pair had joined them at the fence, Michonne offering their goodbye's directly to Rick while Daryl stood back, waiting for something Carol felt ill-prepared to interpret, let alone give.

"I think Carol prepared you some food to take with you," Rick informed them, side-eying her nervously. "Did you guys pick it up from the kitchen?" Rick's inclusion of her when she was trying to be content killing walkers and ignoring them grated and Carol clenched her teeth together so she didn't shoot him a glare. Then she saw the escape he'd created when Michonne shook her head, staring at her curiously as Carol declared she'd get it and took off, sharing a subtle nod of thanks with Rick. She didn't even look at Daryl as she left, and she never returned, sending Carl out with the hastily gathered provisions so she could find something else to do where she didn't have to see him leave, yet again.

Carol's hurt had turned into resolve over time—after each failed mission and the returns that showed over and over again how much closer he was growing to the other woman. The stronger woman. They shared jokes, food, bawdy humour and then one night she passed by Michonne's cell and heard Daryl in there, talking in a hushed, stilted voice about feelings he'd never had for_ her_, and in that moment it had struck her how very much she'd hoped that one day he would. Her foolish fantasies died instantly, right there in the dark outside Michonne's cell, her ears ringing with Daryl's awkward confessions of love. Their discussion fell silent and Carol rushed away, confused and aching but determined not to break. And yes, she'd avoided Daryl pretty much ever since, but from what she'd been able to see, he'd never even noticed. As time moved on, as he went back and forth, Michonne at his side, Carol had learned to let go, to find comfort in knowing her friend had found someone he could love, and she accepted that it was up to her to move on, to find her own way, and so she stumbled along until that's what she did.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you so much, everyone! I'm having a rather down weekend, it finally hitting me that I had to cancel going to Walker Stalker. I am out of pocket a lot of money but the hurt in missing it is more than I expected. Thank you all for taking the edge of that off a little bit. Now, here is chapter 2.

Chapter Two

It didn't take him too long to work out that he'd fucked shit up. There'd been little things, like the flash of hurt in her eyes when he'd told her him and Michonne could handle burying Andrea on their own. He hadn't meant to chill her out of the whole thing, but he'd been barely holding on by a thread and he knew if Carol had been there he'd have wept in her arms until he could no longer stand. Michonne's stoic focus helped him keep his own, kept him thinking too hard on Merle and what he'd never be able to have now his brother was gone. It wasn't until much later that night when he realised Carol was avoiding him that it occurred to him that maybe his brush off had done more damage than he'd intended. That her understanding was perhaps pushed to a limit he'd not realised existed, but should have. That maybe breaking down in her arms might have actually been what he'd needed rather than him breaking down alone in his cell, without his best friend there to comfort him in his grief.

He decided on going with Michonne barely without thinking. He definitely hadn't been thinking of Little Ass-Kicker, or Rick, Carl, The Greenes…or Carol. He was so filled with hate that all the love he'd been shown and had grown over the past year had been squeezed out of him and so he'd left, hunting all over Georgia with Michonne and coming up empty. They searched under every rock, in every nook and cranny and over time he watched his hunting partner seethe silently while his own anger seemed to fizzle away with loneliness and understanding. He missed his home, he missed the life he'd been carving out for himself amongst the group, and he missed Carol so deeply that it made him wonder what the hell he was doing, wasting months of time they didn't have with a woman he didn't barely know before all of this while the woman he did know, and wanted to know better, slowly forgot him and banished him from her heart. Probably replacing him, too, if all the new faces on each return was anything to go by.

Michonne had worked it out pretty quick—quicker than he did, truth be told. She'd been teasing him about it one of the times they were leaving, bumping him with her shoulder and telling him to give Carol a big sloppy, goodbye kiss. He'd blushed so hard his face near melted clean off his skull and he couldn't hide his smile as Michonne shocked him with a loud, velvet-like belly laugh that seemed to ricochet off the trees outside the fences and the walls of the prison. He _did _want to kiss Carol, had wanted to for a long while, but there was this growing distance that made him wary, that warned him he was on a narrow line and that falling either side of it would have consequences he wasn't quite ready to face. When Michonne took them right to the fence, spoke directly to Rick, Daryl's tongue seemed to glue itself to the roof of his mouth and he couldn't even open it to spit out a word or two, let alone say goodbye. That's when he first realised he wasn't as keen to leave her anymore and the first dent in his determination to kill the Governor above everything else slammed into him. Carol didn't even look at him as she fled, and that was his real clue that his time was running out.

Now he was chasing her shadow all over the prison and he was trying to curb his panic that it wasn't just that his time was running out, but that it was already done. He heard her in Cell Block C with Carl and Judith before his presence was discovered, and he stopped to listen to her laugh along with the baby's squeals and snorts as Carol attempted to keep her in her bath.

"You take real good care of her, you know."

All movement stilled for a moment as Carol seemed to absorb Carl's words and then Daryl's eyes stung when he heard the emotion in her voice as she responded.

"We have to do everything we can to keep her healthy and alive, Carl. We're all she's got. It's what your mom would have wanted us to do." The slow trickle of water running the soap off Ass-kicker's body was easy to visualise as it hit the larger pool in the small plastic tub that had been found on a run for the occasion, memories of previous observed bath times rolling around in his head. He didn't know how she put herself in that place again for Ass-kicker, not after Sophia. Daryl imagined Carol lost in thought, imagined the emotion welling up in her eyes until she…

"You still miss her, don't you?"

He went cold, imagining her sniffle, but then her voice was strong and determined as if she was able to just brush the pain aside when she needed to.

"I'll always miss her, Carl. She was a big part of my life." Her voice caught, sounding torn along a ragged edge. "The best part."

"But…that was before, right? What's the best part now? Is it Daryl?"

Her hesitation this time was so heavy with meaning that Daryl didn't think he'd ever be able to move again.

"Why would you think it's him?" She couldn't even bear to say his name and Daryl deflated a little as his back hit the wall. "It's you and Judith now, Carl. That's all I care about. I failed Sophia, but I won't fail either of you."

"Do you blame Daryl for not finding Sophia?" Carl needled and Daryl winced as all the sticking points of his guilt were laid bare for discussion.

Her sharp exclamation covered his distress at thinking she might—it being a subject they'd deliberately avoided broaching with each other.

"Carl, no. What on earth would even make you think that? I don't blame Daryl for not finding her and I don't blame your dad for losing her in the first place. Things happen, horrible things, and letting anger grow inside and take over will just kill everything good that you ever had left."

"You think that's what happened with Daryl?"

Fuck the kid was persistent, and he almost had Daryl cursing his own name even as he slunk along the wall like a creeper, hating what he was hearing but powerless to walk away.

"I think Daryl was ready to leave the second he found Merle at Woodbury, and Michonne just gave him the reason to go. He's happy around her." She paused and he wanted to yell at her she was wrong, that he'd only ever been happy around _her_, that being gone from the prison with Michonne had nothing to do with being happy, but everything to do with clinging hold of his misery. Why didn't she know that when she'd always known him without him even sharing a word? "I guess she's what he needed."

"But…he came back with Merle. I thought you and Daryl were—"

"No," she cut in, her voice old and tired like a dilapidated old porch, the steps worn through with rot. Waiting for just one more solid thud to blow it all apart. "We were just friends. Can we talk about something else now? Please?"

_Were. _That word jumped out and blindsided him, seemed to expand so large it pushed all the air out of the room so he wasn't sure he could even keep on sucking air into his lungs unless he got himself out of there. Hearing that she'd let him go was so much more shocking to Daryl than he'd ever thought it could be, and the depth of the hit challenged Merle's loss in his heart. Daryl stumbled backwards, lost the thread of comprehension in his head so that he was staring at nothing, bare walls, confusion making everything blank. _Were._ Fuck, how did this happen? He didn't even know, and he knew less of what to do to fix it. Once was, anything that got this out of control Carol was there to fix it, to help him navigate the situation until they'd made it through unscathed. How could he ask for Carol's help when it was his own actions that had screwed things up between them in the first place?

He changed paths and headed out to the watchtower, ignoring Michonne's call to him as he loped across the yard and then took the steps two at a time, throwing open the hatch to heave himself up inside. He was panting by the time he'd sprawled on his ass against the wall, his crossbow clutched in his hands. Only once he'd settled did he notice Glenn was standing along the far wall, staring at him like he was a mystic creature pulled out of the deep recesses of something resembling the bowels of Hell.

"Dude! Who put chilli powder in your crotch strap?"

Daryl glared at the grinning newlywed and contemplated what God he'd pissed off to be awarded such a shitty day.

"Shut it. 'M here to take watch. You can stay if you don't talk, or you can move your ass out and leave me be."

Glenn chuckled, settling in for a good round of annoy Daryl to death.

"Where's the fun in that? I gotta make up for lost time, you've been gone so much."

Even with as sensitive as he was to feeling like an outsider once again, Daryl didn't sense that Glenn was judging him. He sighed and leaned back against the wall, relieved for once that he didn't have to be defensive about something he'd felt needed doing.

"That bastard needed to be hunted down and taken out."

Glenn shook his head but the expression on his face wasn't one that disagreed with Daryl's actions, more so one that still couldn't believe that one of their worst enemies in this new world was another survivor. "You don't have to tell me twice. I got people to protect, we all do. We don't need to be looking over our shoulder for the next time he hits. We've lost enough to the Governor already."

The sense of gratitude that someone understood what he'd been trying to achieve was overwhelming. It was stupid, he knew that everyone grasped the danger of letting a man like Phillip Blake continue to roam free, but the bottom-line was, it had been months and they'd failed. There'd been no trace of him, and Daryl didn't have it in him to chase around after a mystery anymore.

"Yeah." Daryl contemplated his fellow watchman with narrowed eyes. Now he'd found a like-minded confidante, his desire to end the search caused guilt instead of relief. "Ain't found no sign of him, though. It's like he's a ghost."

"And you and Michonne are no Ghostbusters," Glenn joked, his face creasing warmly, reminding Daryl what this home had been like with friends other than Michonne.

Daryl nodded, that relief trying to flood back through his system. He was left testing the waters, not wanting to disappoint Glenn now that he knew he'd always had him on his side. "Michonne thinks we can still find him."

Glenn peered out across the yard toward the fence, watching the ravenous, desperate walkers gather in number as those on the fence tried to even their odds by taking some of them out. He seemed to be having his own internal discussion, Daryl swept along with the changing expressions on his face until finally Glenn turned and the pure honesty the man had been known for all along was what he was left with.

"You've done all you can, Daryl. It'll be great to have you stay, help us make this place a proper home." He paused for a moment and then he seemed to twist within himself, wondering if he should keep talking and in typical Glenn fashion, found he couldn't. "I think Carol's missed you."

Daryl scoffed at that, and knowing the truth behind that particular lie dug up something ugly inside he'd thought he'd buried long ago. Something that smelled a whole lot like fear and panic and the cold hard reality of abandonment, knowing you meant nothing to the one person you wanted to mean everything to.

"She don't miss me none."

He didn't like the narrowed contemplation of Glenn's too expressive face, or the slow nod that confirmed Daryl's deepest fears. It was the failure of Glenn to say anything else that killed him, though, dread settling like burning pits of molten lead in his gut and his throat seizing up tight. He finished watch with Glenn in silence, both of them peering awkwardly into the approaching dark with neither much left to say. Nothing until they spied Tyreese crossing the yard, ready to change over with them, then Glenn dropped his bombshell, leaving Daryl stunned immobile and biting his lip ragged.

"She missed you plenty when you first took up with Michonne." Dark eyes turned blacker with the hint of accusation before he turned, yanked up the trapdoor and disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Michonne was standing in front of her holding out three skinned rabbits, one a work of art, the other two…obviously hacked about by someone with no idea what they were doing. Carol smiled warmly at the woman and tried not to laugh. Michonne's dark eyes sparkled with humour, finding that she didn't even want to try and cover for how badly she'd handled critter clean-up duty.

"I think I'll go vegetarian tonight, if you don't mind?" she suggested, her thick bottom lip protruding in a way that told Carol it was a decision based purely on how disgusting preparing the meat was and not on how loud her belly was growling.

"Are you sure?" Carol arched a brow, well aware of how much Michonne liked her meat when she could get it, and the stew she'd prepare with these would stretch quite well with the new vegetable garden beginning to provide.

"Can you get rid of the extra fur?" Michonne shot back, obviously wanting the meat but not keen to go back out and finish the job properly like Daryl had shown her but which she'd not paid a speck of attention to.

Carol snorted, nodding that she would, then went off to start the meal, Michonne's inquiring gaze following after her. There didn't seem to be any ill-feeling between the women, so she was stumped why Carol had given Daryl such a cold shoulder. She'd been noticing it more each time they came back, that the bond that had been so strong and so obvious between the two when she'd first stumbled through those gates was almost non-existent now. There was no doubting that Carol had to have been deeply hurt for her to make such a severe change, to remove herself so fully from Daryl's life that she barely interacted with him at all, and Michonne felt a new acknowledgement of guilt eat away at her that maybe it was her fault and she should have advised Daryl to stay around a lot sooner. He might have needed to avenge Merle's death, but once that happened and he returned home—what did he have at home that was left? Before they'd ploughed through those gates in the beginnings of their search he'd had Carol to return to. Now he obviously didn't, and Michonne had to accept some of that blame. They'd been so selfish, the both of them. Him for being blind in his focus and discarding the sweet woman who would gladly have tried to make his grief lighter, and Michonne herself for clinging to his company for much longer than she knew she needed it.

She cleared her throat as she stepped forward, slowly observing Carol and the fine art of preparing rabbit for the hungry masses, and tried to not let her stomach turn as the insides were fished out and the meat cleaned and sectored for the boiling pot.

"You might get back to cooking venison soon, now that Daryl's staying for good." Michonne watched her carefully but the steady motion of Carol's knife barely altered, not discernibly so, not in a way she could attribute to the mention of Daryl's name.

"That would be wonderful," Carol acknowledged with a quiet smile. "Some more protein is just what the doctor ordered around here. Especially for the children."

Michonne nodded along, letting herself slide in a little further to the comfort of the conversation, letting Carol relax around the introduction of Daryl.

She decided to take a risk, to tease a little and to work her way into it, she casually leaned against the barbecue and aimed a saucy, knowing grin at Carol. "It must be a relief to know that he's going to be hanging around more. You'll finally get your…friend back."

Carol didn't do anything explicit but there was a definite chill that descended between them and Michonne could have kicked herself for going too fast in the push for understanding this strange dynamic she'd all but unconsciously obliterated.

"It's not my business what Daryl chooses to do, but it will be a good thing around here to have another able body. There's always things to do. Perhaps you should hang around longer, too," Carol suggested, switching her attention to Michonne until the woman squirmed from the intensity of the electrifying blue gaze that drilled straight through her soul and melded her ass to the nearby chair like a chastised school girl. "I think Daryl's more your friend now than mine anyway." The smile was tight but still there, an attempt to stay friendly and accepting, and Michonne decided it was wiser to let it go for now, even though her nerves hummed with the misconceptions that were bouncing around so thickly between them. She was perplexed how she'd been placed so firmly into this role, the lack of jealousy and animosity from Carol for her perceived loss something that was outside Michonne's experiences of human nature. Outside her knowledge of women.

She huffed out a laugh, a stilted, confused one and shook her head against Carol's beliefs. "Daryl never stops talking about you."

She should have shut her big mouth. Carol's body stiffened completely and her stare turned into ice that froze Michonne's blood in her veins. She supposed it had to have been there; no woman resolved so easily to lose someone that had claimed such a large part of their heart, but Carol hid it well. She could see the woman was used to losing everything that meant anything to her, and Michonne almost cursed at how obvious it all was now. She'd thought it funny to guess what dwelled in Daryl's heart, to give him shit for having emotions that he was too chicken shit to act upon, when all along she'd dragged him out into the wild, looking for a needle in a haystack. Carol was so wrong it was almost funny. She'd been no kind of friend to Daryl at all, failing to recognise the importance of his hanging around to share parts of himself with the woman he loved—a woman who seemed to have no inkling of how he felt. A woman who'd spent the same amount of time that they'd been out there, searching for ways to board up her heart and move on. Life always moved on, and Carol had decided with their absence that they'd done exactly that, and now it was her turn.

Carol never bothered answering her, just clung to that plastic smile that emphasised her vacant expression as she continued the steps to preparing dinner, and then she'd handed her tasks over to a Woodbury refugee and left, without any further word to Michonne, without even a glance over her shoulder. Michonne thought back to that talk in her cell, back before the last time she and Daryl had gone out, and knew that Daryl was going to have to work his ass off to get this woman's favour back on him. He may love her but Michonne saw such dulled acceptance pushed way down in Carol's eyes that she feared there was no way for her to come back.

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Her breaths were heavy and loaded with grief by the time Carol made it back to her cell, fleeing from Michonne and the ease with which Daryl's name slipped off her tongue. She'd made herself accept that Daryl wasn't hers but some days it was much harder to deal with than others. Today was not one of those easy days, and while she sat in her bunk and tried not to picture Daryl and Michonne twisting together, whether naked or rumbling around in the dirt like a couple of kids trying to make the day last, she desperately sought a thought, or a memory that could help to make it not hurt. But, like on all those days where thoughts of Daryl flowed thick and fast, the abandoned friendship she'd valued so highly laying waste to his neglect, she could find nothing else to lift the ache from her heart. She had little left in her this day but tears. Settling back into a corner of her cot, Carol gave into it, let the melancholy push her further into the stone walls of the cell as she released it all, praying that when it was over she could brush her face clear and face her group without her ravaged heart being on display.

The prison and her cell were dark by the time she became aware of the presence of another living soul in the cell block. Rick was talking to Judith downstairs, rocking and cooing enough to alert Carol to the child's normal bedtime and she lay still in the position she'd obviously fallen asleep in to listen. Rick went quiet and Carol imagined him putting Judith into her crib, tucking the blankets in tight down the sides so her back wouldn't get exposed through the night. Counting her little fingers and toes before swiping at her nose and kissing her cheeks goodnight.

Rick's footsteps echoed through the emptiness a good handful of minutes later, and he lingered. She could pick out his path easily, a wary drift toward the stairs—was he thinking of coming to her? Rick had been a good friend with Daryl gone, trying to fill some of the vacant spots that came with losing something so essential. He did the best he could but they both could see that something was missing, that there was no spark in her eyes when she was around him like there always had been with Daryl. It didn't matter, it was his effort that counted; she loved Rick like a brother, and at least he hadn't let her down. But, she didn't want to see him right now, didn't want to see anyone. New footsteps started to file in, lightly, as if treading carefully in the woods was something he'd learned to be useful no matter where his presence ended up.

Daryl's voice floated up to her, all low and grumbling rough, and Carol squeezed her eyes shut, breathing through her nose and really hoping no one came up those stairs.

"You seen Carol?" His voice bounced high off the walls and Carol flinched, feeling pain from the sound of her name from his lips. This was stupid. She wasn't this woman anymore. He'd made his choice and she'd determined to move on, to find a new place to fit in, to realise her worth wasn't attached to his.

"Not since early evenin'." Rick wandered away from the stairs, Daryl hesitating to follow, and Carol held her breath waiting for something to happen either way. The tension filtered through the air and choked her but she heard nothing from the men, not a hint of conversation between them until the distinct clomp of Daryl's boots bound up the stairs and then he was standing in her doorway, a bowl of food steaming in his hand. She knew without asking that he'd expected her to be there, that Rick had likely betrayed her and stepped aside so Daryl could corner her in her room like a cat playing with a mouse.

"You weren't at dinner. Got rabbit stew, 's still hot." He moved into her room and she shrunk away, her back finding the cold wall as it stopped her getting too far and then she forced herself to be braver, to reach out hesitantly for the bowl and prove that she was still there, and wasn't going to hide away from Daryl no matter who he shared his company with these days.

"Thanks."

She ate, slow mouthfuls that she chewed until the taste of the meat was gone with just a measure of it in the back of her throat, carrying over from each belated swallow, choking her with tasteless lumps. Daryl didn't move, studied each spoonful that was raised to her lips until the ones toward the end shook, a tremble settling in as his attention became more fixed, less relaxed.

"I ain't goin' out lookin' for him no more," he stated and as the lamps downstairs were lit and stark bars of yellow light curled their way upstairs, Carol tried hard not to see the earnest expression on his face. She wished he'd move back to the door, leaving himself mostly in shadow even if it left her exposed, because she didn't want to see this attempt to recapture what she knew was lost. Staying behind now didn't matter, not when he'd squandered their time and replaced her with Michonne. She might have been able to have stayed friends with him if he'd been around more, if the contact with the other woman had been slow.

"That's great, Daryl. The people here really need you."

Once he'd have scoffed at her for that, and she'd have been smirking at him when she'd said it. Now, the words felt bereft of feeling. They hung loosely between them, unclaimed, insincere. His eyes darted from her to the floor, his back straightening as confusion swirled through the darkened irises and then defeat settled across his shoulders.

"Jus' wanted to make sure you ate."

She nodded, feeling weary despite sleeping before.

"Thanks."

He couldn't find anything else to say and so he ducked his head, shifted awkwardly, and left.

It was the first time she felt like she could breathe since he'd entered her space.


	4. Chapter 4

And here's another chapter! I seem to be on a bit of a roll, although I will admit this has all been written for a while. It's the end that is waiting to be heard. Planning to work on that today so if you have words of wisdom or any suggestions, now is the time to let them be known and I will take them under advisement ;) Thank you all so much for responding to this fic. I know it's a bit angsty-not something I generally like to even read, let alone write-I do appreciate you all giving it a chance. I've never written an unhappy ending in my life, so hold onto that!

~Megan

Chapter Four

He'd been home for a solid thirty days, with the prison dirt a constant on the soles of his boots, learning more farming bullshit than he'd ever cared to know, and Carol had spoken to him exactly twice. Michonne had taken off days after he'd returned the last time and he'd hoped Carol would open up to him again, but with more people there was always more to do, and every time he looked, it was Carol that was doing it. She wasn't exactly unfriendly about it; she still smiled when he caught her eye, but catching her eye these days was a whole lot of hard work that it had never been before. He hadn't realised how easily he'd taken for granted the closeness they'd shared after the farm and the long months of running until they'd found a place to settle. Now there were always people between them, flowing back and forth on a path that was more natural to them than the one between him and her, and instead of accepting it and letting go like she seemed to want of him, Daryl felt himself panic.

On one of those days where he was chasing his own tail to try and pin Carol down, he found himself blocked from her and alone in the lower floor of Cell Block C and for a minute he just gave up. His hands shook as he cradled his head, eyes pinned to the floor as he sniffed through the burn of frustration in his throat and eyes, trying like hell not to let his true emotions spill onto the concrete floor. His heart felt ragged and defeated and Daryl wondered if it was just time to give up. He'd tried to get closer to Carol again, tried to take her out with him to hunt, to do watch with her, made himself available in the makeshift kitchen outside. Hell, he'd even shown up to help plant potatoes but she'd given him her back almost every time. He was sick of it now, heartsore and ready to quit.

Hershel found him as he forced himself to sit up straight and rub at his stinging eyes.

"Is it troubles in love bothering you, Daryl?"

He jerked to awareness as the old man hobbled his way clear of the stairs leading in, standing abruptly with the words of denial already on his tongue, but Hershel had that look in his eye, the one that indicated that he'd hear no shit, no matter who was shovelling it, and Daryl slumped back down to his seat, defeated before he even began.

"Michonne?"

He shot back to his feet in shock, a cold sweat hitting him fast from out of nowhere. "What the hell?"

Hershel chuckled, shuffling around and taking a seat across from Daryl, his crutches propped to the side of the table.

"You've made yourself a fine mess of things then, son."

The scowl grew into the corner of his face, and even though he knew he needed advice on what to do before he lost his mind, getting to the point of asking was just beyond him.

"What do you know about it?" he challenged, then deflated as Hershel laughed aloud, obviously finding a great amount of humour in Daryl's misery.

"I had two wives, Daryl, and I have two daughters. I've known my share of miscommunications and misery."

He nodded thoughtfully, wondering if he was really brave enough to try this again. Months ago, on the eve of his last hunt for the Governor, he'd confided to Michonne the feelings he had for Carol. Or grudgingly admitted to might have been truer to the mark as she'd been a real bitch with teasing him over it, having already worked out his feelings before he had himself. But once the words were out there, he'd accepted them as the truth of his heart and the long months of denial had swept a lot of his inner pain away—pain he'd had built up over the year since he'd failed to find Sophia, failed to protect T-Dog and Lori, failed to save his own brother, and then Andrea. So much pain could have been halved if he'd shared it with the one he'd wanted truly at his side, but even as his friend he'd kept himself aloof from her, never quite giving in for fear he'd have nothing of himself left. For fear that she'd be able to destroy him like no one else had ever been able to.

"Fuck," he said now, his head too heavy with all the worry and the confusion. "I don't even know what I done 'cept for bein' gone so long. Thought she understood why I had to go out there."

"I think Carol has always understood your needs, Daryl. Maybe even better than you know them yourself."

The old man sat across from him looking wise and truly tickled over the situation. A hiss of impatience rushed out of him and he pinned Hershel with narrowed eyes, annoyed when all he got in return was wide-eyed innocence and an amused quirk of a smile half-hidden behind his bushy beard. Daryl felt like his life was spinning out of control—it had always been tumultuous at best, what with spending most of it chasing after Merle, but with Carol he'd found his step, found something that gave him a sort of peace and an eagerness to keep on breathing, and now the old man was laughing at him like he deserved to have all that Carol represented to him taken away. Daryl was angry, but at himself just as much as Hershel.

"The hell I done, then? Every damn time I came back she's moved herself even further away, an' when I seek her out she's busy with some other asshole's business."

Hershel contemplated him so thoroughly that Daryl didn't just feel his skin crawl, he felt the bugs burrow several layers deep.

"Carol's the sort of woman who needs to feel sure of where she stands," Hershel said carefully, chewing on his words thoughtfully like he wasn't too sure on the taste of them. "She doesn't trust you anymore, Daryl. You were her friend and you left her behind without a word, without even a thought. It's fair enough she was hurt by that, but it's unlikely she's going to wait around for you to keep forgetting she exists. Not when she's seen you out there, time after time, with a beautiful woman that you've obviously developed a good friendship with."

Daryl baulked at that, his face crinkling up with confusion. "You sayin' Carol's jealous of Michonne?"

He wasn't able to read the expression on Hershel's face but it put Daryl instantly on edge.

"I don't rightly think with all she's been through that Carol would succumb to something like jealousy. That woman sees the bigger picture better than all of us put together. No, she's not jealous of Michonne. She just accepted she's not important to you anymore and made herself move on."

"That ain't true," he growled angrily. "She's more important than all y'all."

Hershel's eyes flashed, the old man fired up with a slow-building temper by Daryl's oblivious nature. He humphed, twitched in his seat while he bunched a fist into his hip.

"You got a funny way of showin' it then, Daryl."

"I been tryin' to show it. Ya'll blind of somethin'?" He was getting his own dander up, his frustration eating into him like fire bugs crawling up his legs.

"You've been trying after the horse's bolted, son. Why weren't you making sure she knew it before that? Why'd you walk out that gate making her feel like she meant less than nothin' to you?"

A rumbling discontent with this conversation rolled coarsely from his throat and Daryl dropped his head into his hands, the balls of his palms rubbing into his eyes while he tried to regain some headspace.

"Weren't sure how she felt 'bout me," he mumbled, well aware he sounded pathetic. Knowing it wasn't even true. If he wasn't getting his ass metaphorically kicked he'd consider letting someone do it for real, just so the lesson from his ignorance fully sank in.

"You weren't sure how—? Land's sakes, Daryl. Have you ever seen Carol make sure anyone else ate their fair share? Seen her make sure everyone else had enough to drink, enough sleep? Did you see her defending anyone else against Rick those first days off the farm, even when you were keepin' her at arm's distance? She's been showin' you all these months long how she feels about you, and what have you done? Turned your back, that's what. Turned your back and run after a ghost with a stranger by your side. A stranger that you laugh and joke with like you always did with Carol. Of course she's tried to move on. What other choice did you give her?"

How the hell did he go from rehearsing awkward declarations of love in Michonne's cell—suffering her cackling amusement whenever he sounded too cheesy—to now, hearing that the one woman he wanted to lay it all on the line for had moved on because he'd been an asshole and hadn't asked her to wait for him? He deserved everything he was getting—her cold shoulder, his aching heart—his pathetic sense of timing and the inability to open his mouth on occasion was going to lose him the very person he needed above all others. But then, here was Hershel and he'd had two wives, had been an alcoholic with the first. The man was the closest thing Daryl knew to someone skilled at wooing the woman of his dreams and making it stick. His only other choices were to drudge up Merle's long tainted advice or to be laughed out of the place by Glenn or Rick or anyone else with a desire to continue seeing him miserable.

"What you suggest I do?" Daryl watched the older man timidly, feeling the acceleration of his heart beating a tattoo on the inside of his chest. He had no idea what wild feats he'd have to perform to encourage Carol to consider allowing him to even be her friend again, let alone move things along to a more satisfactory arrangement for them both, but whatever it was, Daryl was considering it done.

"You need to make time for her, just her, and you need to give her reason to trust you again. I'm really not positive how you can pull that off, Daryl, what with how she's been avoiding you. Maybe start small, helping her with the kids around the prison—she's been trying to teach them all manner of things. Start sitting in on the council meetings—show her you mean business about staying around this time. Bring her gifts—just little things, items of flimsy. It will make her wonder. When she starts to believe in you again, then you can make your move."

Daryl cut a look at the old man, incredulous. "_Then _make a move? Ain't I already makin' moves with all those gifts and followin' her around like a bad smell?"

Hershel snorted and eyed Daryl like he truly was the most pathetic male of the species and if what he was hearing was right, their kindly vet wasn't far wrong.

"No, son. All that's just to butter her up. Once her defences are lowered, then you go in for the kill."

They stared at each other, Daryl feeling more mystified than ever. "And by kill you're not meanin' the money shot, right?"

Daryl smirked when Hershel came close to choking on his tongue at that one.

"No. That's definitely not what I mean."

Daryl grinned unrepentantly as he lazily dragged himself back to his feet. "Just checkin'." And he left Hershel to ponder all sorts of advice he should maybe hand out before they even started thinking about money shots. Daryl chuckled all the way out of the cell block as Hershel's distracted clearing of his throat bounced off the walls and followed him out.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Another chapter thrown out there. I haven't replied individually to comments—a little overwhelmed right now, but I appreciate you all so much for letting me know you are reading. Thank you all so much!

Chapter Five

Carol frowned as the wind picked up, sending a frisson of apprehension scuttling up her arms by way of goose bumps. She wasn't quite sure what it was but she'd had a sense of things being off all day. The world had seemingly conspired against her from the minute she'd left her bed, pitching her against Michonne on a number of duties with the other woman going out of her way to be friendly and asking for Carol's advice on how a multitude of things ran around the prison. She'd been quizzing her about Rick, and how he was handling things with his new litter of piglets, how Carl was coping with being pulled right back from the frontline, and Carol had done her best to answer without an edge in her voice but Michonne's constant presence at her side all day had worn her raw.

When she'd finally got rid of Michonne, Daryl seemed to play tag and was riding her ass everywhere she went. He volunteered to help with story time in the library, with helping Luke clean-up for bed, and when she'd reached breaking point, Carol was grateful to turn her back and head up to the remaining tower for watch, relief so deep she almost collapsed as soon as the rusty trapdoor fell closed.

There was something in the air, though, and so she wasn't at all surprised when she spied Daryl's easy lope across the prison yard, his hands curled around a bowl in a direct swap of what she used to do for him that she actually fell against the wall with her head spinning. Carol retreated into the shadows, hating the tremor that flowed through her before she shook herself hard, facing the bitter reality that it was more likely that Michonne was outside somewhere and Carol just hadn't noticed her yet. She swore under her breath and walked to the edge, looking out to try and find the warrior in the waning light, angry at herself for not keeping as good a watch as she was usually such a stickler for.

She literally jumped when the trapdoor creaked open. Spinning round she gasped when Daryl's head poked through and his fluid motion kept him moving until he was standing right in front of her, dinner a steaming hot offer in his hands. Carol stared at it dumbly, a nervous tension tossing around in her belly until she could almost beg herself off sick. Her eyes hurt from the sting of tears she refused to shed as well as being wide and disbelieving within a shifting breeze that implied everything she was trying to stand solidly on kept moving her off-balance.

"What are you doing here?"

"You skipped dinner."

She was unnerved and fidgety now, shrinking back as he thrust the bowl toward her.

"I'm not hungry, Daryl."

He frowned, his teeth scraping across his dried bottom lip and she hated that she noticed that, hated that she could feel the sensation of it as it hit her body and made her live through it, breath catching like some kind of torture in her throat. She was done with this, she'd put this attraction behind her. Daryl had moved on and she was trying to—trying so hard to put him out of her head and fill it with so many others that she ended up emotionally exhausted.

He seemed genuinely confused that she wouldn't want to take the food from him, and then he became determined, spine straightening and his mouth forming a shape that didn't quite confirm anger but which wasn't going to allow her to trick him into going away, either. It was a fierce determination not to be pushed that she hadn't seen on him around her for a good long while, and she almost smiled to see it. Almost.

"You gotta eat. Ain't that what you always told me? Gotta keep up our strength for whatever is gonna come at us next—and we both know there's always somethin'."

Carol swallowed against the knot of tears in her throat and stared at Daryl's chin, watched his Adam's apple bob nervously. She felt so moved, needing to let everything out she'd been holding onto so hard, but knowing she couldn't. Her hand reached out jerkily in front of her to take the bowl, and she nodded her thanks, still unable to really look at him for the power of how his presence just hurt.

"When you're done with watch, you got a new place to sleep. Tyreese and me got rid of your bunk."

Shock held her rigid and then slowly, paced about as casually as Daryl walked to the window to peer out at the natives, her anger burned.

"How dare you," she seethed when it banked up too high, and he spun around fast, his eyes wide with surprise and his hands out, placating.

"What?"

He looked genuinely frightened but her lightning fury wasn't going to stop and consider that. She stepped up close to him and thrust the still full bowl back in his hands, her eyes slashing through the heavy atmosphere between them like a lethally sharp blade. Like a katana, and her irises flashed with an addition of disgust.

"How dare you touch anything in my room without asking!"

His hurt was instantaneous, and Carol withdrew, though the sensation of having her barriers ripped down without her consent clung tightly to her. That he would invade her space when all these months she'd tried to banish every hint of him so she could even breathe in her room. The pain of it was so strong she wondered how she was able to keep to her feet.

"Weren't just you," he said finally, carefully, voice thick and shaky as his gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumped. He looked lost, desperate to escape and so he placed the bowl along the windowsill and moved to the trapdoor, throwing explanations rapidly over his shoulder as he withdrew. "Did most of the cell block—Rick, Glenn an' Maggie, Hershel. Gonna do Beth and Carl tomorrow. Thought you'd like a new bed.

The air between them was ugly electricity, no longer the comforting buzz both of them had been used to and had long found comfort in. The shock of what was lost felt sharp, cutting through all the pain to add a whole new layer of agony to it. Remorse bit at her throat, and Carol almost rejected it, so desperate to not prolong his presence around her when she just wanted to let go, but the friendship they'd once had and the man she knew Daryl to be deserved her apology, even if it came out in a stilted monotone and stripped of feeling.

"Wait." She reached for him, thin fingers curling around his wrist before letting go abruptly, as if fire had burst from his skin and caught onto hers. "I'm sorry. I…I forgot that was happening. I just…wasn't prepared."

He nodded, swallowed against a dry throat, stood a moment longer in her space but his whole body language had changed, drawn up into itself like a caged, scared animal that needed to escape and Carol was ashamed. The silence stretched between them, filled with discomfort, and she could have wept for how dramatically everything had changed. It wasn't meant to be like this, it wasn't what she'd wanted, but things felt like they'd gone too far now for her to get them back, and it wouldn't be fair anyway. Wouldn't be fair to expect Daryl to be all that he'd been to her in the past when he was developing something new with Michonne. The other woman deserved his loyalty and Carol knew intimately how rewarding that was to have, even though it broke something inside her to lose it for herself.

"Sasha put you down for the run in the mornin'." His voice cracked through the quiet and struck her with a surprising fact yet again, though this time she held onto her words instead of reacting negatively. She didn't do runs. Never. For some reason Rick and Hershel had duties far more important for her inside the prison, preventing her from ever setting foot outside the gate. She was sure this was an aberration that would get cleared up a long time before the sun started to kiss the earth in the morning, so she thought it best to let it slide. "Make sure you're prepared."

And then he really did leave, his body less graceful in retreat than it had been at arrival, and Carol took full blame for the change.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Daryl showed up a half hour early, expecting to see Carol up and dressed with her backpack organised with everything she might need if everything were to go to shit, as it sometimes did. Instead, he found her still asleep, the first few rays of sunlight peaking around the bars of her window and barely breaking the darkness in her room. Coming across her like this, vulnerable in sleep, was an intimacy he'd not been witness to for a very long time. It took the wind right out of him as he stood just inside the doorway, ignoring the slow awakening sounds filtering through behind him to just watch her without judgement.

His memory was vivid when it came to her, always, and what he could see now that contrasted with his memory was that the new mattress, the fresh sheets, relaxed the lines from her face. The burden of where they lived was shed in sleep and the ghosts of prisoners and violence within these walls, the melancholy that reached from beyond the years to enshroud them all, had slipped away from her for now. She looked peaceful, calm, and he loved her. It was that simple. Daryl had to take an acclimatising breath to centre himself and the noise must have broken through the thin veil of consciousness because her eyes reluctantly squinted open in the early greyness of morning.

He hadn't been aware he moved, but he felt it down to his toes, past his knees aching against the bare concrete floor, those electrifying eyes of hers that cut through all the bullshit to find that he still had a soul. She clapped her eyes on him and smiled, and it was pure radiance, lighting him up with hope from the inside. He wanted to touch her, was about to reach out and run his thumb across her bottom lip, but then something changed and he rocked back a little, reacting to the hardening of that blue crystal that thought they knew him so well, and he croaked out a reminder she needed to be up and ready in twenty minutes. He didn't know how, couldn't recall his feet even moving, but the next conscious thought he had was out at his bike, checking the tires and the gas tank, making sure he had all his weapons attached securely to his body.

He fantasised for a minute that she'd ride with him. That everything could be solved if she'd just climb onto the back of his brother's bike, curl her body into his as her arms wrapped around him. He'd put his hand over hers, finding comfort in her touch and her willingness to be so close to him after all the tension that had arisen between them. That dream died the minute she walked out of the cell block, her face a picture of panic and disbelief. She went straight to Sasha, gesturing inside and then looking across the field at where Rick was already ploughing more fields, his usual earphones helping him to rock out and block the desperate hungry growls of the walkers along the fence, completing Rick's efforts to escape this world as effectively as he could. Whatever Sasha said reassured her and Daryl was transfixed by the expression of comprehension on her face that bloomed as she realised she really was going on this run, that no one was going to stop her, that she was about to get out of the prison fences for the first time probably since they'd arrived. Guilt fell heavily on Daryl's shoulders and he hung his head, realising a new way that he'd failed her. This love he was convinced he felt for her was getting a trampling with his realisation that proving it was going to be a challenge when he'd done so little to establish the possibility of it in the first place. He'd been so blind to her needs, so consumed with his own, and while he'd had the right to feel Merle's loss, only a fool would block out the support of the woman he loved. Daryl was obviously that fool.

The others met them outside then, crowding around as Sasha gave a quick rundown of her expectations of the run. There weren't too many places left to rummage, but somehow they'd found a small strip of stores that were relatively unscathed in a town just over an hour away. Carol nodded through the explanation, absorbing the important points, the desires and needs of the group now that it had expanded, and then her eyes widened as Michonne joined the group, no apology, no need for one except for Daryl could see the tightening of the muscles on Carol's face and it hurt his heart. Glenn and Maggie took one car and Sasha, Tyreese and Michonne took the other, with Carol taking a split second to decide on going in the car of the newlyweds. She didn't even glance at him though he could tell with how straight her back was and how tight were her steps that she wasn't happy. As he kick-started the bike, leading the others off, he hoped that temper of hers wouldn't get her killed.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: So, you've caught up to me now. I have almost finished writing the next chapter so I'm anticipating an update tomorrow. It should all be coming to an end soon. Thank you all so much for sticking with me. I know some of you have found this way too angsty and I'm so sorry for that. I find fics like that difficult to read. Strangely this one wasn't too hard to write, but it is a bit of a struggle to get them back together again!

Chapter Six

Freedom was the gritty dryness of dust in her throat. Glenn drove with the window down, squinting into the fierce sunlight as the outside rushed its way into the interior of the car. The lovey dovey talk that was a constant between the two within the prison had cut out completely once they drove out the gates, the sombreness of what it meant to be outside the fences sinking into them both like ink into chalk. It was one of the few times Carol had left the prison at all since they'd arrived, and even though the humidity elicited her sweat to ooze out the pores of her skin and her clothing became damp and sticky, she wasn't going to complain, instead grateful for the breeze on her face to cool away some of the slickness of sweat rather than find coolness and comfort in the confines of prison walls.

She wasn't a fool, though. The escape from _her _prison was lovely and all, a craved distraction despite who her run companions were, but she was smart enough to know how unprepared she was and that alone worried her. Daryl's declaration the night before should have sent her straight to Sasha to make inquiries about the run, to familiarise herself with where they were going and what they were planning to achieve, but she'd become so mired in the drudge of the prison and the expectations of the patriarchs within it that she'd never allowed herself to consider that what Daryl had said would turn out to actually be her plan for the day. She was paying for that naivety now. As if sensing her discomfort, Maggie turned in her seat and filled her in, explaining that the site was new, a small place that could hardly be called a town but which had enough business on its main street to boast the title—despite the lack of actual homes in the vicinity. It seemed like some kind of in between short stop, and as such it had appeared to be generally missed by those scavengers left in the area. It had been scouted and was free of walkers, and so Carol relaxed, listened to Glenn's prattle about the good old days, Maggie joking about the nerd-status of her husband and how well games like Portal had prepared him for marriage in this new world. Carol mostly shut them out for the long drive, her ears tuning in to the loud burr and hum of Daryl's motorbike as he led them, just like he always did. Always out in front, always the first to take the charge into trouble, always the first to see failure or defeat. It made Carol's stomach twist with fear and it always would. No matter what had been lacking in his feelings for her, no matter who he chose to move on with, she would always be tied up in knots until she saw him back to safety. It seemed like the only thing she had left now besides the children back at the prison.

She fell out of rhythm the second her foot hit the road, and foreboding scuttled up her spine like a crab pinching at her nerves. She frowned, her body tensing as waves of apprehension hit her full blast and a deep crease formed between her eyes. The rest of them moved off like this had been their lives for a hundred years, each step sure and confident as they split up and double-checked perimeters. The calm, calculated expression on Sasha's face momentarily infused Carol with confidence as she attempted to find her footing in this ensemble, but time and time again her eyes were drawn to Daryl and her watchful gaze measured his safety first before she even considered her own. As soon as she realised what she was doing, she cursed under her breath. She'd never be able to move forward unless she could accept Daryl's presence without it taking up full scope.

They all met in the centre of the road, expressions fierce, alert, and Carol found herself trembling with some awe at what a unit they presented, eager to find her place amongst them. She had to do this, had to find out who she was continuously unfolding to be because this world forced them all to evolve on a daily basis, forced them to reassess how they lived and what they needed to do to go on living. For too long she'd relied on her heart to lead her along, and she'd trusted in her attraction to Daryl, in their connection to become much of her world in the days before he left with Michonne, and it had been hard work to find another trail to follow. Another person to be, but she was digging deep and at last was finding her and on good days, Carol even liked her.

The convenience store was larger than one would have expected for a small, inconsequential town. It was boarded up pretty solid, Daryl and Tyreese attacking the main door with a crowbar, both of them having to put their backs into it, the muscles in Daryl's arms flexing and receding against the effort. Carol looked down, turning away from him and becoming distracted, watching the blur of discarded remnants of life before the turn as the wind swept them along the pavement. Her eyes lost focus for a while s her thoughts became introverted, as memories struck her without warning, but as the chain on the door finally gave way, the metal creaking and squealing as the damage settled into the door frame, awareness of what the shimmering block of greyed colours approaching from further up the street were struck her. Carol opened her mouth to warn the others, finding herself talking to empty air, the rest of them leaving her behind to enter the store and were already actively gathering supplies. Carol rushed into the store and chaos erupted.

"Herd," she called out and was satisfied when Glenn and Maggie—never far apart from each other—responded to her alarm and quickly attended to the situation. Maggie rushed past her to survey the scene through the shop door and Glenn gathered the others, Carol wandering through the few aisles behind him tagging along in support.

They didn't know what hit them. Sasha, Tyreese and Daryl had made it out with Glenn close behind when a door in the back cracked open and walkers fell against it, spilling across each other as they rapidly began filling the store from within. Michonne wielded her sword to prevent them being overwhelmed, even as they both backed toward the exit. They were almost there, Carol caught mid-pivot to stride out the door when everything seemed to change, the turn as sudden as the wind.

"Carol, move your ass."

Daryl's shout cracked through the store and the walkers vibrated with excitement as they caught sight of the promise of food, surging forward faster, hungrier for them. His voice shocked her enough to get her feet moving, but then Michonne slammed into one of the aisles and went down hard, three more walkers growling and salivating with blackened mouths filled with rot descending on her. Carol wavered, breathing hard with fear but with Michonne's arm caught awkwardly beneath her, her sword knocked out of her hands, she had no choice but to step up or watch the other woman die. Carol didn't think, rushing in to seize the sword with trembling, clumsy fingers and barely registered the weight of it in her hands before she awkwardly tried to slice it into flesh. Her grip was inelegant, unfamiliar and even though the muscles in her shoulders were used to slashing with a machete, lifting that sword to slide effortlessly through the air to connect with skulls wasn't quite within her. She had to get more bodily involved than she ever had, using kicks to push them back, crouching in front of Michonne and getting lucky that the sword pierced through the brain as one all but fell on her. She threw it aside and took out her knife, almost too slow for the final few, and by the time the adrenaline had helped her through her final kill, Daryl was back inside shouting at her, but the blood rushed through her head too loud to hear him.

He was staring at her, his face twisted with irrational fury and Carol watched in fascination as her heart beat sowed no signs of slowing as it battered against her ribcage. She panted and gasped in air, trying to seize the relief at being alive back into herself while registering that death could still be her fate outside. Amidst the rush of emotions hitting her from all sides—Daryl flipping out over what, she wasn't quite certain, and Michonne adding her voice of irritation at having to be saved, claiming that she should have been left to the walkers instead of Carol putting herself at risk—Carol finally felt a curtain of calmness overtake her, acceptance that she knew was so slow in coming finally arriving. They'd both been afraid for each other, and now she stood awkwardly between them when they all needed to get out of there. Ignoring Daryl's tantrum, Carol turned and helped haul Michonne to her feet, getting bumped a little to the side as Glenn rushed back in, cutting through the turmoil burgeoning thickly in the store, and helped the warrior up and out.

"There's at least fifty coming down the street. Time to hustle, guys." Glenn led the way, almost dragging Michonne as she limped faster than was realistic with how much pain she was in. Each flex of her jaw and deep, pain-filled grunt accompanying the squeezing together of her eye lids told a story and it was one that Carol had been very familiar with in her former life. Tyrese was waiting with the car door open, helping to haul her inside as soon as they stopped.

"I ain't done talkin' 'bout this," Daryl threatened, and his eyes were narrowed into slits, his tone hard and accusatory and all Carol felt able to respond with was an arched brow and a petty comeback.

"God," she exploded, full aware it was neither the time nor the place but just about done that she was always the loser and now she was being hauled over the coals for doing the right thing. For protecting what he valued when she'd never had a choice but to love him. "Could you be any less grateful that I saved your lover? Most people would at least be appreciative instead of trying to tear me a new one."

She faltered in her next step, stumbling at the shock he was unable to hide. The hurt in his eyes was unmistakable as he shook his head and backed away. He looked at her once more, clamped his lips tightly together before spinning around and jogging to his bike, crossbow slapping against his back like a beat that spelled out the first echoes of doom. A weird clenching sensation dug its way through her chest and into her heart and Carol had to be shoved into the car by Maggie, the world gone silent as she tried to process what it was Daryl had tried to communicate with sad eyes and unsteady lips.


	7. Chapter 7

I want to apologise for taking some time to get back moving on this. My home life is a bit...tumultuous at the moment and now I'm also coming down with the flu. As I am half delirious, please let me know if you spy some errors. I really need to go have a sleep! I have started on the next chapter so it should be out in a few days. It will most likely be the final chapter.

Chapter Seven

Daryl hadn't stopped shaking all the way back to the prison. He needed to check her for scratches and bites, the vivid visual of one of those walkers falling in an ungainly heap on top of her as she attempted to shield Michonne scorched terrifyingly in his brain. There was a tightness in his chest he couldn't shift, a sting in his eyes that blinking didn't eradicate but he held it in as the bike rumbled up to the gate, worried faces greeting him as their little caravan of vehicles re-entered largely empty for their troubles, hours ahead of schedule.

He gave her time to reconcile what had happened after sending Hershel to check her thoroughly, not trusting himself to hold his temper after the revelation that had knocked him flat. The truth was, he needed a minute to get his own head together. The chill within the prison walls bit into his skin and he shivered, closing his eyes and replaying the afternoon over, a movie reel of events that were surreal with how close it had all been to coming to an end. Running once again those words—her wrong damned assumptions through his head.

Carol thought he and Michonne were lovers.

A bubble of humourless laughter coiled up inside of him until he couldn't restrain it, bursting out of him in one sharp, short surprise. He followed it up with bitter, angry tears. Daryl felt like he'd been fighting for so long to rebuild a friendship he never quite understood how it had got lost…now he knew, and he couldn't believe Carol had jumped to such a conclusion. It made him angry and it stuck to his insides like slime—cold, ugly and invasive. It filled him with a fire of fury that he could barely contain within the walls of his cell.

He'd been pacing like a caged animal for a good half hour. He was going crazy with the loop-de-loop in his head of seeing Carol go down beneath that walker, finding irrational anger fighting its way out at Michonne for letting herself get caught in the first place. It was meant to be a simple run, a good run, and in the space of half a minute everything he had left to live for in this shitty end-of-times world was almost ripped right out of his hands. He'd wanted to force her onto the back of his bike so he could be reassured she was alive with the presence of her body heat against his back as he took them home to safety—he wanted to know she was near him and that he'd be the one on hand to protect her should she need it, only she thought he wanted Michonne in his bed. Not her. His stomach turned violently.

How the hell could she even _think _that's what he wanted? How could she think he'd turned from her that much when he'd barely looked at the other woman as anything but a friend?

_But Carol was always a friend._

A tortured wail worked its way loose in his throat and as he admitted to himself how thoroughly he'd fucked it all up, he kicked the cell wall before slumping against it, his arm bracing against it and his head depositing more sweat on his filthy arm. He was shit at this romantic crap, always had been and always would be. He'd given up long ago letting himself succumb to softer feelings that might end up shaming him or leaving him exposed to some bitch. Relationship had long been a dirty word he'd never even bothered contemplating trying it out and seeing if he could get some woman to stick to him. Carol was…she was a whole other world to him and he often wondered if it was even one that he could recognise. He'd tried to work up the courage once before to approach her and lay it all out there, risk her laughing at him and sending him away by telling her how he felt. Some days he couldn't breathe right when he got caught in the lure of her eyes, the joy she found in the simplest things passing its way across the distance until he could feel it in himself, leaving him awed at her power to transfix and transcend the ugly hopelessness this world seemed to offer in spades. He'd chickened out. Of course. Anything of worth trying for and he ran a million miles from it. He didn't know who he was kidding pretending he did shit only on his terms, because she'd influenced his every move since they'd lost Sophia on the side of the road. The only time she hadn't was when he'd gone looking for vengeance, his heart beating only a rhythm of death for the one that took his brother so callously from his life, and he recognised now how big a mistake it had been. He'd gained nothing by being so single-minded in his objective, and lost a whole lot besides.

He'd done all the running he was going to. It was time to stand on his own two feet and withstand whatever got thrown at him, to let the ricochet of affection from people that were once strangers but now his family fill his heart. This was his final chance to change who he was, to be someone that cared more about others than himself. Cared more about _her _than anyone else in the prison. He didn't know why she thought he was bumping uglies with Michonne, but she was going to learn how wrong she was, and while he was at it he figured it was about time he grew a set and made his real intentions known. No more of this subtle crap. If his approach was ham-fisted and awkward, so be it. She knew who he was and she'd either take him or tell him to go fuck himself—though knowing Carol she'd be more of a lady about it. For what felt like the first time all day, he grinned with something resembling genuine relief, his heart accelerating until he almost scared himself with the level of excitement and hope that came with making such a decision. Now he just had to hope his declaration didn't kill him or send the woman he wanted running even faster than he had.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Carol's generous effort to help Michonne into the cell block had her questioning her own mind. She hadn't been able to force down that shield she'd built so carefully between herself and Daryl, and now Michonne was staring at her, huge eyes as sticky as molasses boring so deeply into her that Carol felt so exposed and vulnerable she might as well scream and get it over with.

Michonne limped slowly toward Cell Block C, hobbling up the stairs at the rate that would rival the eldest of the Woodbury residents and yet still lose, and surely it was made worse by Michonne's intent observation of her that left Carol feeling tinglingly sick.

"You should have left me there," she said at last and the relief at hearing the woman's voice had Carol's knees weak, despite the meaning behind them.

"We don't leave people behind," Carol reminded automatically, trumping out the worn and true pact the whole group had exercised so thoroughly all those long months on the road after the farm when too often one would end up in a precarious position, an unlikely escape staring them down. All of them had had at least one opportunity to save somebody else, and so now it was Michonne's turn. Carol's mouth tightened, preparing for the argument about to come her way. She knew the other woman's type, it was just another side of the same coin that Carol embodied so well. She also knew that the self-styled warrior was too late. Trying to hold them all at arm's length would achieve nothing when everyone had already taken her into their hearts.

"You should have _left _me there," she ground out with a low hiss of pain as she put a little too much weight on her twisted ankle. "You could have got yourself killed."

Carol stopped walking, stopped upholding any of the pretence of patience she'd so far successfully adopted each time she was around Michonne lately.

"If I'd left you there, you'd be dead right now," Carol pointed out bluntly, a frown settling and twisting around her mouth. It wasn't often that the truth didn't hurt, but this time it should have made the woman shed a tear or two in gratitude.

"It was stupid," Michonne imparted with self-derision, her blunt honesty not appreciated by Carol in the slightest.

"And so is being a martyr and dying when you don't need to," Carol snapped back, forcing her arm back around the other woman and a little rougher than she might have before the morose lack of gratitude for risking her own neck. "Daryl doesn't need to lose anyone else." The confession made her mouth feel like it was filled with coal and the bile that surged up at the most unpleasant truth nearly choked her.

"Daryl doesn't need to lose _you_." Michonne recommenced movement, maintaining a strong grip on the stair railing and Carol clenched her teeth to stop the tears that always threatened when she least wanted to acknowledge them. She bit her lip, stared at the step beneath her feet, and then she swallowed hard, accepting whatever she needed to do to just get the other woman inside.

"Like I said," Carol choked out, the words and thoughts unpleasant and painful. "Daryl doesn't need to lose anyone else."

She moved on, not waiting for Michonne and in fact if the other woman hadn't made the slightest effort to commence climbing the stairs, Carol might well have dragged her to the top. She huffed and puffed her way there and then when they got to the top, both of them were winded, burning muscles for Carol and pain-induced misery for Michonne. The prison behind them was a clutter of noise, but the door still gave them a degree of privacy and Michonne's eyes burned as they focused on her. She took her time, waiting until she had Carol's undivided attention before she nodded, smiled kindly, then proceeded to drop her bombshell.

"You know Daryl and I aren't lovers, right? He's never thought of me like that. Only you."

The blunt words fell heavily on her heart and Carol paused, unable to move, unable to think. Her first impulse was to reject the words as a lie, to brush past Michonne and let her make the rest of the way on her own, but then the words weaved a little into her head and they tugged at the one thing she'd pushed down so hard that she didn't think it could ever be enticed back out: hope.

The moment demanded honesty and Carol took a deep breath, closed her eyes to centre herself, and when she finally felt well enough prepared for this confrontation, her lids slid open and she clashed with the intent mocha brown eyes that had never attempted to subterfuge before. Eyes that had been honest in every dealing the two women had ever had.

"Don't play with me." She was proud of how steady her voice was, how the phrase had come out without accusation but strong enough to be taken seriously. Carol was no longer some pawn in this new game of life and she was going to make sure everyone knew it, starting with Daryl's newest fighting partner.

"I wouldn't." Michonne leaned against the door, apparently not even caring that Glenn or someone could attempt to throw it open, effectively knocking her back down the steps. It took a real measure of confidence to not care about getting hurt and Carol frowned at her, wondering if that might be a lesson she could take away with her.

"I heard him, in your cell one night. He was talking about how he thought he was in love and that you were a bitch for giving him shit about it." Unbidden, Carol's lips curled up into a sad smile, knowing without having seen his face that Daryl would have been pissed that his feelings were exposed and the recipient was making fun of him for it. But then he'd thrown a clumsy joke at Michonne, laughed right alongside her and Carol knew to walk away fast before anything happened that she truly didn't wish to hear.

"You heard it wrong." Switching her intense stare for a moment to sweep across the yard, Michonne sucked in a breath and then allowed her body to truly relax, her shoulders slumping as if she was about to betray a trust she sorely didn't want to but found no other choice offered before her. As soon as the words formed on her lips, her focus was back on Carol. Carol shivered as if a breeze had fought its way beneath her jacket, but instead it was a sense of foreboding that was unravelling her tight hold on her assumptions.

"How could I have heard it wrong?" The plea was there, no longer hidden as what Michonne offered filtered through and Carol grasped hold of it without hardly even thinking on why she wanted to. Daryl had hurt her by turning his back, had convinced her he no longer cared when he had the enigmatic Michonne for constant company weeks at a time. She'd surrendered up all the tenderness her heart had created for him and she'd locked herself away, not wanting to drown in the hurt that came with inevitable loss, whether the person was dead to you or just moving on with someone else. It hurt to contemplate she might have had it all wrong. Not only for the wasted time, but because it roared through a well of need that had fought to grow when it had been forced to lay dormant within her heart for so very long. And it had all been unnecessary. "He chose you," she almost wailed, choking off at the last minute before she betrayed herself any further. 'Not me,' was right there in her head, on the tip of her tongue, and no matter what Michonne said, Carol couldn't let go of the very real truth that Daryl had walked out those gates time and time again with Michonne without a backward glance, and when he did finally choose to seek her out, Carol was convinced she'd retained no more importance to him than any other member of their family …convinced that if he ever had been, Daryl was no longer being hers. And while it hurt to think she was wrong and that he'd never loved the dark woman before her, herself struggling to find a niche within their group, Carol had to wonder if it was all too late anyway. If what was done should stay done.

"He didn't—"

"It doesn't matter," Carol interrupted, resolve hardening her stance. And as she ignored Michonne's protests against being manhandled inside, Carol knew that it truly didn't. The choice had been made long ago and whether Carol jumped the gun on what it meant, too much time had passed for it to matter now. She'd forgotten the other woman's strength, however, and as her hand encircled her arm, holding Carol on the spot before they entered fully the space flooded with the remainder of the people in the whole world that they knew, Michonne moved in closer, the light in her eyes more menacing than Carol suspected the situation warranted.

"It does matter, and if it doesn't then it _should_. Daryl followed me because of grief—"

"Grief he'd rather share with you,' Carol interrupted, the lancing wound of Daryl's choice still open and festering.

"No," Michonne denied hotly, her fingers tightening fractionally on Carol's arms so that they pinched.

"He didn't share one word of how he felt with me, not about Merle. Not about you until I started teasing about how he'd throw your name into the dark most nights around the fire. The _only _thing he spoke of for the longest time was you. Carol is the best at cooking squirrel. Damn, this hole is getting so big, where's Carol when you need her? You know, Carol understands everyone of the group—always knows the right shit to say. Carol's perfect, Carol's wonderful blah blah blah." Michonne pulled a face, like the whole topic turned her stomach, but then she absolutely beamed and Carol almost stumbled over backwards with the shock. "That man loves you so hard and for the longest time he didn't even know it. I just made it my job to set him straight." The grin slipped, her fingers loosened and Carol pulled her arm free, but she was beholden to the situation, committed to hearing the woman out to the end, holding her breath because the impact of words like love were causing a breathlessness she hadn't experienced since she was a teenager. "I was selfish." Michonne nodded, as if she'd said something out loud that she'd only vaguely thought on before and that now the words had hit the air, she had no other choice but to agree with them. "I was selfish holding onto him when I could see you were pulling away. I thought I needed him to help me find the Governor…I thought his grief couldn't be alleviated unless he took that life. I was wrong." Her eyes glowed bright with the sheen of tears, only Carol didn't know if it was from the woman's continuing pain over losing Andrea or from guilt that she may have caused irrevocable damage to Daryl's love life. "Getting you back was more important to Daryl than ever avenging his brother's death…" She paused, her stillness electrifying. "As it should be."

She pulled away then, using the wall as a crutch until she managed to make it into the belly of the tomb and Rick of all people rushed forward to help her. Carol noticed there were no objections coming from the warrior, no claims that she should have been left to die as she allowed Rick to bear her weight and lead her to her cell. A sad smile touched Carol's lips and it lingered until Daryl's boots on the metal steps across the room rang through the space and the look of furious temptation on his face chilled her blood right in her veins.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: I know that I have been very slack in getting this chapter out. It gave me a bit of a headache and I've rewritten it. This is out now mostly due to Iman, but so many of you have been nudging me toward writing more and so I thought of all of you while I finished it! I am so grateful for all your feedback and it feels good to know the story sits on people's minds. I had originally thought this would be the last chapter, but now I am not so sure. Thoughts?

Chapter Eight

She hadn't meant to run. It wasn't like her to hide from her problems, to avoid complications but speaking with Michonne had thrown her whole thought processes into disarray and the one thing she didn't need was a confrontation with Daryl. The way he stood at the bottom of the stairs across the room, his eyes dark and glittering with determination to do _something _about the monumental disaster they'd both made of their friendship had her shaking with uncertainty. Carol thought that maybe she owed him an apology for jumping to conclusions, but she wasn't certain, and because she was so unsure about what she should be thinking or feeling, she turned heel and ran.

She was embarrassed when he followed her, chasing her until she flung open the door of the room they used for Council meetings and he caught it before she could slam it shut. It was stupid to run, but even though he'd essentially cornered her, she still retreated at pace, getting the table between them to give her time to take stock. There was something borderline romantic about it—or possibly psychotic. The fierce, determined scrunch on his face, the squint he barely ever kept away by eyeing most of the world through the side of his eye. This time it was gone; he stood solidly and stared her down, tension bristling along his back with the tightening of his musculature, an action that forced Carol to take a protective breath from how attractive it made him, virile and lethal if nothing else.

He was careful as he placed his crossbow down on the table, his movements measured and graceful as if he was trying to seduce a skittish mare. Carol snorted at the image, the words of childhood filtering through her mind until she straightened up and refused to let them be true: 'the old grey mare she ain't what she used to be.." No, she wasn't what she used to be—downtrodden, afraid, and careful. This was Daryl, the man who had helped her break free from most of that mindset until his absence had left her to emotional despair. This was Daryl, who she had loved for almost as long as she'd known his name, and definitely for as long as he'd known hers. This was Daryl, who had put everything on the line to search for a lost cause and bury himself within her heart for the rest of her life. Carol stood up straighter, crossed her arms nervously at her middle, and resolved to stop running.

He seemed to sense her change in composure, and he straightened his body to match, drawing himself up so that the honesty of his stature was imposing because everything about him screamed 'truth'.

"Michonne an' me…we're just friends." There was a bite to his confession that struck the room cold and Carol suffered for it. Her flesh shivered with goose bumps as she took a protective step back, nodding her belated agreement with a slight edge of fear for where this was leading. She hoped so hard, needed to hear him say certain words with an urgency that was pushing tears into her eyes, and yet she was so afraid they would never come, no matter how close it looked like they were to the surface.

"I know."

The way he watched her—his eyes laser sharp to recognise every move like she was one of the animals he stalked and brought back to serve up for dinner—stripped her bare of artifice. She had no chance to compose a lie, no time to formulate some kind of story that could explain the lunacy of her decisions, only the truth. And the truth, whether he'd been sleeping with Michonne or falling for the warrior woman in the time he was away from her, was that he'd walked away and left her behind. He'd replaced her name with Michonne's, and whether he believed he'd turned his back on her or not, it's what she'd felt. She wasn't blind, and neither were the other members of the group—they'd all seen it happen and they'd all offered her a shoulder to cry on when he walked through those gates and left her bereft without even realising it.

"I ain't even interested in her."

His voice was a low growl, like thunder dragging its heavy belly along the ground, his eyes on fire as he watched her fidget on nervous feet, looking ready to bolt even if she had nowhere left to go.

She sucked in a breath, welcoming at least the relief of his admission, even if his tone grated along her spine.

"Okay."

He braced himself at the head of the table, his hands reaching for the hard surface as if nothing else could hold up his emotion-ravaged body. His eyes bled raw from wounds that were so real that Carol gasped. He was unveiling everything to her, holding nothing back and for a second or two she believed her heart stopped, then it kicked back in double time, pounding so hard she wasn't sure she could even hear him over the roar in her ears. He'd felt this separation, as deeply and as destructively as she had and for once he was doing nothing to hide it.

"Don't you _know_?" He looked sad and angry all at once and she shook. She honestly didn't know what to say and the truth hung in the air just out of reach, twisting around in swirling patterns that were anything but _words_ to her. The irritation was growing rapidly and Carol almost stomped in her frustration but instead she squirmed under Daryl's intent stare. She didn't know what to do with this—his pain and hers clashed until they left open wounds with no signs yet of salve.

"What should I know, Daryl? What should I have known when you tell me nothing?"

His gasp wasn't delicate, it was violent and painful and the expression on his face was one of such suffering that it almost broke her heart. It took a super-human effort to hold her own pain in the forefront-for her to keep reminding herself that she'd done nothing wrong by trying to move on. Nothing wrong by taking the scant symbols of affection he'd once given her and had later retracted as her sign that she'd wished for things that had never been in him to give. To be ultimately wrong in that assumption was a gift, but it wasn't one she knew yet how to unwrap.

"I'm sorry you got the wrong idea, but you ain't exactly Miss Chatty, neither." His tone had completely changed, defeat replacing the anger of before and it was all Carol could do to stand up and not run around the table and take him into her arms, making all kinds of promises that would achieve their avoidance of the issue now but would resolve nothing in the long run. "I fucked up, I know I did. I shoulda talked to you about Merle—Hell, I wanted to. Knew I made a mistake that night after I buried him. Wanted to be with you to let it all out but I'd already hurt you by pushin' you away. But…you ain't never said shit to me about how you feel. How was I supposed to know you'd see it all wrong?"

The air buzzed with an erratic electrical current the second Merle's name passed his lips and Carol could see how the loss of his brother still haunted him. Still rendered him lost in a way that just knowing he was gone before finding him again hadn't. She'd been so foolishly hurt that night, keeping her distance because he'd wanted to block his immediate pain until he felt strong enough to reveal it to her. Staying with Michonne, as stoic as the other woman was, would have made it easier for him to stay composed. It was obvious now. She felt ashamed, and so selfish for withdrawing when he'd needed her friendship more than anything else. Needed him to just be there. He'd behaved no differently to how she'd pushed him out of her line of sight after Sophia had been discovered in the barn. It was little wonder he'd raced out after Michonne, seeking vengeance when he'd had nothing else offered to him. And…he was right, as much as it galled her to admit it. She'd flirted and teased him to the point of embarrassment on both their parts, but she'd never stood seriously before him and admitted that not all of it was a joke. That a lot of it was because she loved him and wanted him in her arms at night. That she wanted to dwell in his heart as the most important person in his world like he lingered in hers.

She wasn't sure if it was all settled, but the pain of that night didn't seem to be far from Daryl still, and as much distance as she'd driven between them, it seemed wrong to ignore that suffering again. She flipped expectation on its head and retraced her steps, finding herself in front of him before he'd even had time to blink.

"What should I know, Daryl?" Breath held so tight she felt a pain in her chest, Carol focused on the hope thrumming through her, hoping the softness she was emitting would tell him everything that he needed to know from her.

He shook his head like a dog about to back away, then he seemed to get a grip and he stared straight into her eyes, shaking hands settling in a gentle grip around her upper arms.

"How I feel about you."

They were just words, but they were so heavy with implication that she felt dizzy dancing on the edges of it. They were words that teased of revealing something that had remained secret from her for so long—about to lose the cover of confusion. Carol took a step closer, letting her palms make contact with the soft leather of his vest, gripping the edges into fists as her body grew weak with longing—as her mind spun 'happily ever after's' that she'd never in her life dared to believe in before.

The words pushed through her to be delivered on a half-caught breath. "How do you feel?"

He barked out a humourless laugh and the look on his face twisted her already fragile dreams into knots. He was aggravated, about to turn his back and leave and the interplay of his emotions left her feeling winded and strange.

"Shit, you're gonna make me say it, ain'tcha?"

Her stomach dropped and what had been so hopeful before now seemed so devoid of it that she almost chose to run rather than stick this disaster out. "No." Her eyes darted around as her fists loosened and she forced herself to let go of him. "I'm not going to force you to say anything." That wasn't them—this whole twisted mess of a situation wasn't them—at least, not who they'd been to each other. They'd never had to share words to understand each other before, now it seemed they couldn't understand each other with or without and the loss of that steady faith hurt. Her step back came to a jarring standstill as his hands jerked against her arms, holding her steady and still.

"Don't do that." His voice was ragged, breaking with emotion. "Don't keep givin' me an out when I don't deserve one. Fuck it all, I don't even _want _one."

She snapped, eyes flashing a warning as her shrill voice burst into the room.

"What the hell do you want, Daryl? Because right now? You're just driving me crazy."

A slow moving smirk bloomed across his soft lips and Carol was captivated. Instantly lost to the sensual images that blew through her mind.

"That right there is the funniest shit I've heard since we left the farm. You've been drivin' me crazy from the moment I saw you with a grenade in your hand. Damned housewife coulda blown us to kingdom come at any time, but instead you kept us all alive." His voice, dripping with admiration and respect, dropped an octave and his eyes went dark, pupils blown as unmistakable desire washed over his being. "You're still keepin' us all alive."

She shook her head automatically, seeing nothing she did these days along the heroics of so many of the others doing runs and hunting down their enemies.

"Don't do that," he ordered huskily, and then the rough pad of his thumb made contact with her bottom lip and Carol's knees went weak and wobbly. "Don't belittle what you do 'round here, for all of us. You're teachin' the young ones to survive, riskin' this elegant neck of yours to go out beyond the fence to make sure we got water, teachin' everyone how to be pullin' their weight. I know that when the chips are down, when it looks like it's all lost, you'll be the one to save us all." He peered deeply into her eyes, his solid, unshakable belief in her worth burning intently inside him so that she gasped in surprise, and then his gaze shifted to her lips and she forgot how to breathe. "It'll always be you."

She laughed. It broke the spell and all in one she was grateful and furious with herself, but the thought of little Carol Peletier being what this group needed for survival was at once extremely funny to her. He made her out to be some kind of superhero when all she cared about was keeping everyone safe. He cracked a smile at her, though, even as his confidence wavered and the fog of desire he'd been caught in dissipated and he visibly forced some distance between them.

"'S not so funny. Not really," he defended with a huff, even with the good-natured smile still in place. It was wider than most of the ones he shared with the group and Carol realised how rare his full smiles were around anyone but her. Even with Michonne she'd never seen him totally relax enough to give in to the comfort of laughter.

Unable to help herself, Carol reached out and gently shoved at Daryl's shoulder, letting her palm linger against the cool familiarity of his vest before slowly letting it slide away. "It is a little bit funny."

Daryl sighed, the picture of frustration. "So much for my big romantic gesture."

Carol snorted then, her hand slapping across her mouth as her eyes grew wide and tears of laughter threatened to undo her completely.

"Making me sound like Wonder Woman and Bat Girl all rolled into one was your romantic gesture?"

His eyes went instantly smoky dark again and a shiver raced along her spine, tension bristling in the air around them. He grimaced for a second and then a cool, visible sweat broke across his face and the frantic look he threw at the floor as he tried to come across as calm and collected by folding his arms across his chest whittled its way into her heart.

"Those boots of yours should be kickin' my ass," he mumbled and a red flush spread rapidly up his neck. She had a feeling he might have been thinking about more than her boots, and while she was hesitant to assume what physical wonders he might have imagined and related to her, Carol chose to be flattered. It was a sign that he not only cared, that he not only had feelings for her, but that he desired her as well, and for that alone she was going to wear her boots a little more often around him.

"Daryl?" Her voice sounded wispy, uneven and unsure and Carol snuck a little closer, finding her hands itched to make contact with him, even if it was all just an innocent gesture to show that even if he felt nothing more for her than friendship, he at least had that back. She'd give him that, but she'd give him more if he asked.

"Yeah?" He sounded like his throat was dry, raw and the guttural reminder that she'd asked something of him wore with deep satisfaction as it flowed into her blood and burned.

"What do you want from me?" Holding her breath and waiting with her ears, she missed the spark of lust that ignited in his eyes, his greedy glance poring up her frame and then back down it.

"Everything," he pushed out on a hissing breath and all her resistance collapsed in a puddle.

"Oh." There was no laughter this time, just a humming expectation that very soon, the air between them was going to change, the soft comfort was going to fracture irreparably and what she'd longed for was going to embrace her completely. She sucked in a raspy breath, fighting the tremors that rippled through her body at how close he was, at the apparent offer he was suggesting. "Everything? What…what—" Her head hurt for trying to force it all to make sense and instead she hit him with an imploring look that seemed to soften him just as much as he hardened.

"I mean, that's what I want. You've not said much at all 'bout how you feel. Maybe I got it all wrong? Maybe—"

"No!" rushed out of her so fast she barely grasped that her brain had reacted so quickly, but the fear of this all turning and falling flat filled her with terror. She couldn't come this far, couldn't go back to facing down an inevitable loss like she'd grappled with for too many long months, not when she was this close to having him wedged firmly in her life—as firmly as he was becoming wedged between her thighs. "I…I want everything, too." She felt stupid for saying it, like some heroine swept away on the wind of love, but as her heart pounded and her face flushed, she felt completely surrendered to her body's panic to keep him anyway she could have him.

His penetrating gaze caught her in a snare, his body angling her into the table until she'd backed against it and had nowhere else to go. As if she still had miles of room behind her, he kept coming until she had no choice but to push herself up on the table. She didn't get far as his body slipped into the V of hers and his hands curled into the cheeks of her ass and held her tight to him.

"I need you to stop runnin'."

She nodded jerkily. She was done running. There was nowhere left to go, and suddenly the reward of staying was far too good to reject.

"I ain't too good at all this—" and she was nodding before he finished. This she knew—his experience with sex was obviously limited, she'd picked that up long ago, but picking up the cues to love, they both were simpletons.

"We have a table," Carol blurted out, then flushed to the ends of her hair as her severe need for the kinds of things he could do to her on that table flew through her mind. He froze against her and she felt _everything _and if she hadn't realised she was alive before, the subtle throb of vitality between her legs brought that reality home with a bang.

He swallowed hard and her gaze was transfixed with the slow motion of his Adam's apple tracking along his throat.

"Got nosy assholes all around, too," he reminded, his voice thick as molasses and thrice as sweet.

Carol shuffled a little closer, acting bold by running a hand shaking with anticipation up his chest and threading into the back of his hair. She held him hot and heady between her legs now, and the confidence that came with knowing she aroused him obliterated every last doubt she'd had that there was something that existed between them, something that meant more than friends. She twitched at the promise of more, her body progressively becoming warmer the closer she moved to him. Without even realising she'd shuffled even closer, his earlobe was against her lips. Carol closed her eyes, blew warm air across his neck and gasped as he quivered in her arms.

"You locked the door," she prodded gently, huskily and at last he was on her, his mouth hot and wet as he chased her lips in a kiss that seared her to her soul. Bruising passes across her lips did little to cool her ardour. Instead, Carol desperately clung to him, revelling in the feel of his hair between her fingers as she held on tight and directed him to hold still while she ran her tongue across his lips, flicking it lightly along the slit between them and moaned loudly as he got the message and let his lips part. It took amazingly little encouragement after that. His tongue was thick in her mouth and she sucked on it, drawing him in further and it was the wildest kiss she'd ever had in her life, throwing her into long gone memories of first crashing kisses with boys, only this one lit her on fire and she didn't ever think the flames could be quenched. She met the hard wall of his body as he squeezed her ass and it was the encouragement Carol needed to start encouraging his vest down his arms so she could undo the buttons of his shirt and rid him of that also. He caught her wrists before she made full contact with his bare chest, and he was shuddering from harsh, uneven breaths.

"I need you to know," he panted against her lips, his eyes closed but his forehead pressed against hers. "We do this there's no going back."

Her thighs squeezed around him, drawing him in closer. "Do you want to go back to the last few months, Daryl? Thinking you were in love with Michonne was killing me." The tears in her voice drew out his shame and his eyes snapped open and in one blinding rush he had her crushed fully within the circle of his arms, his body tight and tense against hers.

"I only want you. I only _ever_ wanted you."

She kissed him, her lips as light as a butterfly in flight, and tears of joy slid down her cheeks to mingle at their lips.

"I only want you, too."

The banging at the door had them shoot apart in shock, walkers their first concern until raucous laughter was heard from outside. Glenn was easily recognisable, but there was Maggie, Rick and Michonne, too, all laughing at the fact that the two least likely members of the group were locked in a room together.

"About damn time," Rick teased through the door and Carol giggled, tucking her face into Daryl's neck as she hung onto him. His skin was hot and his hands on her were slack as he seemed to sway within a decision of whether to back away or embrace her fully. She knew he'd reached it when his hands were solid on her back, hauling her body completely against his. He turned to the door, emitted a growl deep in his throat that reverberated right through Carol's body, and told them all to "Fuck off."

It was obvious after several minutes of silence and lack of movement that Daryl was embarrassed with having been discovered by their group. That his original interest had waned slightly, even though he still held her just as tight. Carol stroked his cheek, loving the softness of his facial hair, loving the honest sweat that made his skin glow. She loved him and she knew their time would come, and if anything had been proven just now it was that he wanted her just as much. For now, that was as much as she needed.


End file.

Walking Dead, Angst